


All of my Christmases

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M, Requited Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 8.6, just a short one-shot inspired in part by the song, "Nobody does it better". All characters belong to Kudos and no copyright infringement is intended. Reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of my Christmases

**Author's Note:**

> My various ideas for a Christmas fic have yet to be written as my Muse is clearly enjoying the holiday season too much already. Hopefully, she'll be back soon. But though this one-shot is not set at Christmas time, I thought it might work as it's a nice, fluffy fic. Hope you agree and a very happy Christmas to you all. Would love a review if you have a moment. Cheers, S.C.

He watches her lying beside him, her eyes closed, sleeping, and he can't quite believe that this is real, that it's finally happened, that he's lying in bed with the woman he has loved for so long. He feels... awed, elated, blissful. He doesn't think he's ever felt this good in his life before. Her beautiful face is resting on the palm of his left hand, her lips mere millimetres from the heel of it, her right hand resting palm up between them where it had fallen away from his chest as sleep had claimed her and her left wrapped loosely around his left wrist as they both lie on their sides facing each other. She'd fallen asleep cuddling his left arm against her as he'd stroked her skin with the fingertips of his right hand while they'd gazed into each other's eyes, both of them too happy for words.

“Close your eyes,” he'd whispered when he'd seen her struggling to fight the fatigue and post-coital lassitude that had threatened to overwhelm her, and as he'd began to stroke her eyebrows and nose with his thumb, she'd complied and had soon fallen asleep.

He watches her now, feeling his own eyes begin to droop tiredly but fighting the pull of sleep, wanting to burn every detail of her beautiful face into his memory forever. Her forehead is smooth, the creases he so often sees between her brows as she frowns in concentration gone, her lips relaxed and slightly parted. He remembers how he'd kissed those lips, how they'd kissed him back, sucked his lips and skin, and smiled against his hand before she'd gone to sleep. He remembers her eyes too, dark and alight with passion and love, eyes that are now closed, resting, and he misses them immediately and can't wait for them to open so he can gaze into them again. But her eyelids and eyelashes are gorgeous too and he finds himself studying them carefully, hungrily, never having really noticed them before. In fact there are so _many_ things about her face that he's never really paid attention to before, not focused attention, not like this. This is the first opportunity he's had to do it and he can't bear to let it slip through his fingers, so he forces himself to stay awake, to drink her in with his eyes, noting her pretty nose, perfectly sculpted lips, high cheek bones, every line on her face, her skin looking almost golden in the dim light coming from the lamp in the corner of the room that neither of them have got up to switch off yet.

Everything about her is perfect in his eyes – her face, her hair, her ears, her lips. He wants to touch her, but he's scared to wake her, so he contents himself with watching her instead, continuing the journey across her features with his eyes, letting his gaze drop to her neck and upper chest where his forearm is resting, nestled between her breasts. He can't see them, but he can feel their weight against his skin, and though he resists the temptation with all his might, he can't help but give in eventually to his desire to gaze at them once more. Ever so softly and carefully, he lifts his right hand and pulls down the duvet a couple of inches, revealing the top of her exquisite breasts, her nipples and then the rest of them. They're creamy and soft, a few freckles decorating each one just perfectly, her nipples no longer erect, but soft mounds of pink flesh, darker and larger than he'd imagined, but infinitely more beautiful. His thoughts drift back to his first glimpse of them earlier that night, the feel of her breasts in his hands, her nipples in his mouth, her body moving below and then above his, her hands on his skin, in his hair, and the intensity of the moment when he'd finally made her his. He feels tears of joy and gratitude spring to his eyes but he quickly blinks them away. He knows it's only October but it feels like Christmas, like all of his Christmases have come at once, and he still doesn't know why - why now, why tonight. He'd wanted to ask her, but he'd been scared to spoil the moment, both before and after, but he can't help wondering what's so special about today, nor can he stop worrying that she might not want another night like this... with him.

They'd not talked about _them_ at all, and he still hadn't been sure if she'd wanted anything more than friendship from him when they'd left the pub together and he'd driven her home. They'd talked quite a bit about all sorts of things, a little about work to begin with until she'd stopped them, saying that they weren't going to solve the problem of Nightingale tonight so they should let it go for a few hours and relax, talk about something else, and then about other things, everyday kind of things, half of which he can no longer recall, but he knows that he'll never forget the tone of their exchange, the laughter and the joy they'd shared, sitting together in a pub as if they hadn't a care in the world.

When she'd first asked him for a drink, he couldn't believe his ears and it had taken him a moment to realise that he hadn't been dreaming, that the words had really come out of her mouth. But then Tariq and Nightingale had stopped them from leaving and they'd spent the next hour or so frantically checking and rechecking information, making phone calls, trying desperately to find out how Nightingale had known to get their money out of Dewitts in time and deal with yet another major cock up. As he'd watched Ruth walk away from him to her station to get back to work, he'd thought he'd lost his chance with her once more and he'd almost screamed out loud with frustration. But once all the phone calls had been made and every angle re-examined until they were all exhausted and growing cross-eyed with fatigue, she'd simply walked into his office and said, “There's still one hour left till closing time. Still fancy that drink, Harry?” He smiles as he remembers the eagerness with which he'd practically jumped out of his chair and grabbed his coat, ushering her out of his office and into the pods with a quietly mumbled direction to hurry up before someone else thought to drag them back to work.

“You're not sleeping,” her soft voice interrupts his reverie, startling him a little. He lifts his eyes to hers to find them open now and he can't help smiling into them. They're gorgeous and clouded with sleep. It's the first time he's seen what she looks like when she's just woken up, he realises, storing this too in his memory for safe keeping. “Didn't you... Wasn't it... good... for you?” she asks with a frown.

“It was wonderful, Ruth,” he reassures her quickly, lifting his right hand to cup her cheek. “I just... didn't want to miss anything,” he admits softly.

“Aerosmith,” she smiles.

“Pardon?”

“Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep, cause I'd miss you, Baby, and I don't wanna miss a thing,” she half murmurs, half sings.

“Yes,” he smiles, watching her still sleepy eyes in open adoration. “Ruth... I have something to ask you,” he whispers after a bit, plucking up his courage. “Why today, Ruth? Why tonight? What's changed?”

She smiles and he watches her turn her head to bury her face in his hand, pressing her lips against the centre of his palm. “You're going to think it's stupid,” she murmurs eventually without looking at him.

“I won't,” he replies with a smile, loving this shy Ruth who reminds him so much of the Ruth who'd left him standing on the docks all those years ago. “You don't need to tell me. I'm just curious... But as long as this is... a beginning for us and you're not going to tell me it was a mistake, I don't care about anything else.”

“No, Harry,” she replies quickly, turning to look at him again. “Far from it. I think it's the most... the best thing I've ever done in my life...” He smiles in relief, still watching her with tender eyes, loving this, her, them together. “It sounds stupid, I know, but it was James Bond.”

“James Bond?” he frowns in confusion.

“The spy who loved me,” she murmurs with a blush. “It was on the telly a couple of days ago and it made me think of you. When I was... away, on the run, in Bulgaria actually, I saw it on the telly and it struck me how much it... fits you. The theme song, I mean.”

“The spy who loves you,” he smiles in understanding.

“Yes,” she replies with a shy smile of her own, “only it talks about... _you_... being the best... and I've always thought you are, you would be if we ever... got that far, but when I watched it the other day, I suddenly realised that I don't really know if you are... but I _could_ know, I could find out. While I was away I couldn't, I could only dream but now... And then I thought about Danny and Adam and Zaf... and George and about how short life is, and how I could lose you one day and I'd still not know for sure. So... I wanted to know. And it made me realise that I want to give us a chance... while I still can.”

He smiles, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek with the back of his finger, and trying desperately to stop himself from asking the obvious question. He watches the knowing smile spread across her lips and the twinkle that appears in her eyes that are suddenly looking wide awake again. “Don't you want to know?” she teases softly, reaching her hand forward to caress his chest with her finger tips and making him shiver.

“Of course, I do, Ruth,” he murmurs in response, realising that honesty's probably the best policy right about now.

“Well, you're certainly the best _I've_ ever had,” she replies, watching his face intently and smiling at the pleasure that he knows is spreading across it. “You must have had a _lot_ of practice, Harry, to get to be _this_ good.”

He can feels his cheeks heating up and doesn't really know what to say to that. It's true, of course; he _has_ had quite a few women in his time. He's in his late fifties after all and hasn't been in a monogamous relationship in ages, but he's not about to admit that. Not when there's a chance it'll make her run from him again, but before he can think of what to say, she speaks. “I'll take that as a yes then,” she grins.

“I imagine I've had my fair share of... encounters with women,” he admits eventually, rolling onto his back in an effort to get away from her intense scrutiny and find a way to change the subject. He's exhausted after a long week and his brain is not as sharp as he'd like right now. He should have fallen asleep while he'd had the chance, he thinks grimly.

“Now I'm _really_ curious to know,” she replies, following him over and propping her head on her right hand so she can see his face. “What does your fair share mean? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? A hundred? _Two_ hundred? More?”

“Ruth,” he begins in desperation, really hating the turn their conversation has taken, “I don't know... exactly. I... It's not important. None of them have meant-”

“Anything,” she interrupts. “Yes, I know. You all say that.” His face falls and he looks away in pain, puzzled and hurt by how quickly it's all falling apart. “I'm sorry,” he hears her murmur softly, her voice sounding genuinely contrite, and when he turns to look at her, her eyes are soft and deeply apologetic. “I don't know where that came from,” she confesses. “I know this... _us_ , means a lot to you, Harry. It does to me too... It means everything. I didn't mean that. Forget I said anything. Please?”

He nods and turns towards her, pulling her into his arms. “It means everything to me too, Ruth,” he murmurs against her hair. “I couldn't bear it if I lost you again. My heart wouldn't take it, I love you so.”

“Me too,” she whispers and kisses him softly, repeatedly, and he can't help the moan of pleasure that escapes him. He rolls her onto her back, hovering diagonally across her chest as he continues to kiss her perfect lips, one hand massaging the back of her neck as the other caresses her skin, gliding over her stomach, her hips, her soft bottom and strong thighs. She moans and pants as his lips leave hers to trail kisses down her neck to her chest, his fingers slipping between her legs as her groans and whimpers of pleasure intensify. He pours all his love, skill and focus into building her up and pushing her over the edge once more, delighting in the sight and sounds of her pleasure. Soon she's lying on her side again, cuddling his left forearm once more, her eyes sated, her eyelids drooping in satisfaction. “Wow,” she murmurs softly.

He smiles and presses a soft kiss against the fingers of her right hand that he's holding in his. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love to give you pleasure... to watch you come. You're beautiful, Ruth.”

“Fourteen,” she mumbles sleepily.

“What?” he frowns in confusion.

“You,” she explains. “You're my number fourteen... and definitely the best... in more ways than one. In all the ways that matter in fact.”

He smiles. Fourteen is not a lot... nowhere near as many as he's had, but it's more than he expected given how shy and unsure of herself Ruth had been when she'd first joined his team. “I don't know the exact number, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, still scared to reveal the truth because, now he thinks about it, it seems too large a number even to himself. “I stopped counting a long time ago... but if you want an estimate, including all honey traps and baring in mind that I'm in my late fifties, I'd say roughly... maybe seventy or so?” He's not looking at her as he says it, but is gazing at her hand that's still clasped gently in his, between them. “All of them were before I realised how much I love you, Ruth, before... Danny was killed. Seeing you standing beside him... that was the first time I knew that I cared a great deal more than I probably should.”

She's silent for long moments and he feels his gut twisting in apprehension, tying itself in knots, but when he finally finds the courage to lift his eyes to hers, he finds her watching him, her gaze full of love. “Thank you for telling me, Harry,” she smiles softly.

“It seems like too many,” he confesses quietly as he feels the knots in his stomach loosen and he's able to breathe again. “Definitely more than my fair share,” he adds, taking refuge in humour.

“Has it really been five years for you, Harry?” she asks gently.

“Yes,” he whispers, glancing down at their joined hands again. “After the divorce, I went through a time when I... took solace in the arms of numerous women. By the time you came along, I'd moved past that need to prove myself and I felt... empty and somewhat... disgusted with myself. I was looking for... something special and I found it in you. When you left... I was devastated, and for a moment, I was tempted to lose myself again in mindless sex. But I'd been down that road before and I knew where it lead... So I held onto the hope that I'd see you again someday and we'd... start anew. And that helped me stay away from bars because I knew I wouldn't be able to face you again if I'd succumb to the temptation.”

“I'm sorry I denied us so many chances, Harry,” she murmurs. “So very sorry.”

“It's all right, Ruth,” he smiles. “We might never have made it if we'd began sooner. Now we have a real chance. I'm only a few years shy of retirement and I find that I want a civilian life more and more each day... and that was _before_ this happened. Now you could ask me to leave the Service with you tomorrow and I'd jump at the chance and never look back.” He frowns realising that he's possibly asking for too much too soon and is running the risk of scaring her away. “Not that I'm expecting that kind of commitment this early-”

“It's fine, Harry,” she smiles, lifting he hand to cup his cheek. “You don't need to be so... worried. I understand what you mean and I appreciate the sentiment behind it very much. We're good together, Harry. We always have been. I'm not going to turn my back on us, on you again. I promise. I'm determined to make this work and to enjoy it, to enjoy _you_ for as long as humanly possible.”

“I fear you might have to wait until tomorrow for that, Ruth,” he murmurs, glancing away in embarrassment. “I'm not as young as I used to be.”

“Neither am I, Harry,” she smiles. “And I wasn't talking about sex... though, of course, sex with you is quite wonderful and I'm looking forward to tomorrow... morning?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in question.

“You can count on it,” he grins.

“Let's sleep then, Harry,” she replies. “We'll want to be well rested for that.”

He gazes at her adoringly for several moments before he whispers, “I love you, Ruth.”

“I know,” she murmurs softly. “I know, Harry, and I love you too... very much.” Then she slips out of bed and darts across the room to switch off the light, returning to bed and moving close to his warm body. “It's bloody freezing,” she complains as she cuddles up to him and feels his arms wrap around her, pulling her closer still. “But you're so nice and warm,” she sighs. “I'm glad you're here, Harry.”

“I'm glad I'm here too,” he mumbles sleepily, kissing her lips softly. “Good night, my darling Ruth. Sweet dreams.”

“I like that,” she smiles, shuffling closer still.

“What?” he asks softly.

“Being your darling,” she sighs.

“That's good,” he smiles, “because you always will be.”


End file.
